


Destroying Angel

by ConnieBailey



Category: Justified
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-21
Updated: 2019-04-10
Packaged: 2019-11-27 03:12:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 17
Words: 19,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18189035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ConnieBailey/pseuds/ConnieBailey
Summary: A serial killer with a unique signature is taking out a string of lowlifes in Virginia, Illinois, and Kentucky. The FBI's Violent Criminal Apprehension Program appoints a Critical Incident Response Group including Special Agent Raylan Givens, known for his unorthodox but effective methods. As the hunt gains momentum, Raylan finds himself growing sympathetic to the killer. A chance meeting could have deadly consequences for one of them.





	1. One

Prologue

 

It was so cold. He never knew the desert could be so cold. When he thought of the desert, he thought of endless miles of sand and a sun hot enough to raise blisters. But that was just during the day. At night, things were different. When the dark came, the cold came with it, stealing through layers of government-issued clothing and sinking into bones. The cold numbed the body and slowed the thoughts. Even the sentinel stars seemed to radiate freezing cold like chips of ice. After a while, they took on a hostile appearance, alien eyes staring down with detached, inimical intent.

How long had he been here watching the target? Had it been hours? Days? He couldn’t remember. All he knew was that he had to be ready to neutralize the objective when the order was given. He snugged the butt of the rifle tighter into the hollow of his shoulder, closed his left eye, and looked down the scope again.

The target was eating alone at a table in a fine restaurant. The pig was shoveling food into his mouth, red lips smacking, bright blue eyes gleaming with gluttony. He ached to end this swine’s life, but it wasn’t up to him to make that decision. The word had to be given before he could fire, but it was torture watching the pervert enjoy himself. He was starting to get eye fatigue.

“Hey, C.K.,” he whispered to his spotter.

There was no answer. He took his eye from the scope and looked to his left. There was no there with him on the wind-swept heights. The desert was gone along with the watching stars. Spread out around him was a large city. Above him, cloud ships sailed a sea-blue sky. His mission, however, remained. He looked down the scope and found the target again.

As always, he felt a connection with the one marked for death. It was as though an invisible cord stretched between them, drawing them together. He never doubted that the targets deserved the death he gave them; if anything, it was more mercy than they deserved. No, he never felt doubt, nor did he feel guilt. His kills were righteous. Justified.

_Fire_

He didn’t know if the voice was in his ear or in his head. He took the shot and time hung suspended until his bullet found the target. He existed in a moment of perfect being. He was justice. He was vengeance. He was the Destroying Angel.

   
One

 

Special Agent Raylan Givens of the Federal Bureau of Investigation was the last to arrive at the VICAP team’s situation room. Special Agent in Charge Art Mullen was seated at the conference table. Special Agent Rachel Brooks sat at the computer console. Special Agent David Vasquez sat across from Art looking at a laptop screen. They all glanced up as Raylan came in.

Raylan greeted each by name. “What’s the case?” he asked as he sat.

“Multiple homicides,” Art said grimly. “Rachel, fill Raylan in, would you?” He went over to the coffee station and filled his cup.

Rachel spun in her chair to face Raylan. “Early this morning, I happened to notice a pattern in some seemingly random homicides. I was collocating by bullet caliber, when I—”

“Broad strokes,” Art said as he sat back down.

“Right, Chief.” Rachel cleared her throat. “Each homicide was committed with a rifle, most likely the very popular Remington 700. The cartridges were .300 Ultra Mags.”

“Jesus. This guy’s serious.”

“As a heart attack,” David interjected.

“Any connection aside from the caliber?” Raylan asked.

“I’m working on it,” Rachel said. “So far, it would appear that all the victims were involved in illegal trafficking of hard drugs, but I have a feeling there’s more to it.”

“Ain’t there always?”

“You tell us, Raylan. You’re the one who can see into these sickos’ heads,” David said.

“Now, now,” Art said. “Raylan ain’t a wizard. He’s just got a… whatchamacallit? A knack.”

“A knack for thinking like a psycho,” David said.

Raylan looked over Rachel’s shoulder at the map on her screen. A series of red dots trailed down from Chicago to Nashville. “Looks like he’s headed our way.”

“He’s here.” Rachel keyed a command and another dot appeared, this time in Richmond. “Two hours ago.” She clicked the mouse and a photo appeared on-screen. The man appeared to be in his late thirties to early forties. He had short-cropped, light blond hair, a pink complexion, and startling blue eyes. “Robert Quarles was killed when his head literally exploded while he was eating at the Jefferson Hotel in Richmond.”

“Ick,” Raylan said.

“To say the least,” Rachel answered. “Here’s what I have on Quarles. In the Eighties, he was an enforcer for an outfit in St. Louis. According to reports, he was too vicious for the mob. He was freelance in Nineties until he hooked up with a truly slimy specimen named Sammy Tonin. From about 2005 till now, he’s been running a sex trafficking ring for Tonin.”

Raylan clenched his jaw. “Go on.”

“They’re full service,” she said. “Pornography in every medium, prostitution, sex slaves.” She paused. “Children mostly.”

“Let me get this straight,” Raylan said. “Someone blew away a piece-of-shit kiddie porn king?”

“In a nutshell,” Art said.

“And we care why?”

“Well, there is the little matter of being sworn to uphold the law,” Art said.

“Oh yeah, sometimes I forget about that.”

“It can be inconvenient,” David said.

Art’s phone rang and he took it out of his pocket. He listened for a minute before he put it away. “Sammy Tonin was found dead in his car about an hour ago.”

“Let me guess,” Raylan said. “He was shot with a large caliber shell.”

“From the description of the body, I’d say that’s a good guess. Rachel should have incoming mail and you can see for yourself.”

Rachel clicked on the attachment from Richmond P.D. “Wow, that’s going to leave a stain,” she said as she gazed at the image.

David and Art came over to look at the high-resolution, full-color photo of a short, pudgy man sprawled across both seats of a convertible sports car. The leather upholstery was spattered with blood, bone splinters, and glistening bits of spinal tissue.

“So, if it’s our guy, he goes for the base of the brain every time?” Raylan asked.

Rachel nodded. “So far, all six victims were clean head shots. Entry from the rear.”

Raylan pursed his lips. “Looks like we’ve got ourselves a professional.”

“Yep,” Art said.

“Whoever he is—or she,” David said. “He’s damn good.”

“Well, looks like we’d best go find him,” Art said. “We’re wheels-up in thirty.”


	2. Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The CIRG team works a crime scene.

Two

 

The VICAP G-6 jet landed in Richmond forty minutes after takeoff from Quantico. The team got into an Escalade sent by the local FBI office and were taken to the Jefferson Hotel.

“Not too shabby,” Rachel said as they walked into the opulent lobby of the 19th Century hotel. Marble floors and columns, velvet drapes, and brocade upholstery took the visitor back in time.

Art identified himself at the front desk, and the head manager appeared moments later.

“I’m sorry your visit to the Jefferson is for official reasons,” the manager said. “Your colleagues are in the dining room. Please follow me.” He cleared his throat. “I was wondering if you knew how long this might take. I don’t like to appear callous but having the dining room closed for an extended period of time is a major inconvenience.”

“I understand,” Art said. “We’ll be out of your hair as soon as we can.”

The manager left them at the crime scene tape that was stretched across the entrance to the dining room. The team walked around a screen that had been set up to obscure the view into the area. The dining room was as lavish as the lobby, but the effect of the elegant atmosphere was ruined by the dead body and the spray of blood.

The shot had taken off most of the back of Quarles’ head and knocked him over in his chair. He was facedown on the table his arms flung wide.

“They’re going to need to get some steam cleaners in here,” Rachel said, unfazed by the gore.

The Richmond detective on scene shook hands with Art, and Art introduced his team. They spoke for a few minutes, and then the local cops left the scene to the FBI.

“Those guys didn’t seem too broken up over the homicide,” David said.

“Good riddance to bad rubbish,” Rachel said.

“It’s still a crime, kids,” Art reminded them.

“The hell it is,” Raylan said under his breath.

“The local boys are sending a wagon to pick the vic up as soon as we’re done here, so let’s get to work,” Art said.

Raylan looked around the room. The Richmond police had already worked the scene and would provide a full report. The CIRG team was here for one reason: so he could see the body and the surrounds in person. And now his team was waiting for him.

“Let’s see the old magic, Raylan,” Art said lightly.

Raylan glanced at Art. He knew that Art knew that he couldn’t force it to happen. He didn’t even know what made it happen, but on many occasions, he’d been able to intuit a killer’s thoughts by looking at his handiwork. Those intuitions had led to several high-profile arrests and his hotshot reputation. He’d heard the whispers, rumors, and gossip about his voodoo, his mojo, sixth sense, or whatever you wanted to call it. He didn’t have a word for it. To him, it was a hateful but sometimes useful curse. It was no picnic being able to empathize with a serial killer, but it often provided the clue that led to a monster being taken off the streets.

Raylan glanced at the body and then his attention was called to the window. He stared at the bullet hole and beyond it, and he felt the tickle that reminded him of a thread of spider silk. It attached itself, and he let lead him out of the dining room.

Raylan’s team followed, but they stayed some distance behind him. When he went into a building on the next block, they let him go up in an elevator by himself. They knew he needed to be alone to absorb a new scene without distraction.

 

Break

 

Raylan found the stairs to the roof and forced open the door to the outside. There was little to see beyond some bulky air-conditioning units, but when he went to the retaining wall that ran around the edge of the roof, he realized the Jefferson was visible from a certain angle. He leaned out from the building and found he had a direct line of sight between the letters of a sign atop a building across the street.

“That was a hell of a shot,” Raylan whispered. He had no doubt he was standing in the same spot where the shooter had stood a few hours ago. He stared down through the outlines of the sign’s framework and neon tubing and let his mind wander. The sun was hot on the top of his head and a breeze lifted the hair from his brow. He had the idle thought that it would be nice if he had his hat, but it was in the SUV.

As Raylan stood there gazing at the small piece of window that was visible, he saw Quarles’ face. He felt an upsurge of emotion so intense that he swayed on his feet. As quickly as it had come, it was gone, too quickly to even identify. It was replaced by implacable calm and resolution. He had a purpose, and he would fulfill it.

He hefted the nine-pound rifle and brought the stock to his shoulder. With his cheek nestled against the weapon like a lover, he sighted through the scope. Quarles’ face appeared to float a couple of feet in front him, big white teeth gnashing and red lips squirming as he stuffed his face with expensive food. Quarles was vermin that didn’t deserve to draw breath. He pulled the trigger and existed in a state of perfect of serenity that lasted for as long as it took for the bullet to find its target.

Raylan shook his head and broke the trance, but the template of the killer’s feelings overlaid his for several more moments. He stood with his head down, hands braced on his knees until the state passed. When he’d regained his equilibrium, he called Art.


	3. Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another crime scene. Another shooting.

“That was a hell of a shot,” Art said as he leaned on the retaining wall next to Raylan. “Our shooter is either a world-class marksman or he’s served as a sniper… or both.”

“My money’s on sniper, Chief,” Raylan said.

“Any special reason?” David challenged.

Raylan shrugged. “He just feels military.”

“And how’s that feel?”

“You know, disciplined and all that shit.”

Art put a hand on Raylan’s shoulder. “You feel anything else?”

David turned away to join Rachel in studying some marks that might have come from a rifle barrel resting on the wall.

“He’s not angry when he kills.” Raylan rubbed his jaw and realized he needed a shave. “What time is it?”

“A little after six. Why?”

“He’s cold,” Raylan said as though Art hadn’t spoken. “So cold.”

“Cold?” Art said softly, careful not to startle him.

“He’s not angry. Or crazy. He’s… restoring balance.” Raylan blinked. “Did I say anything useful?”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“It would sure be nice if just once I saw a name or an address instead of some vague bullshit.”

“Your vague bullshit is always on the money, so just go with it.” Art smiled. “And don’t let Vasquez give you shit about your psychic powers.”

Raylan rolled his eyes, but he was grateful for Art’s understanding and leniency where he was concerned. “This guy,” he said, as he headed for the stairs. “He’s not like any of the others we’ve hunted.”

“That’s okay,” Art said. “We’ll take him down just the same.”

 

Break

 

“You’re looking a little shaky,” Rachel told Raylan. “Chief, how about a dinner break?”

“We’ll pick something up on the way to the second scene. We’re losing daylight.” Art got behind the wheel of the Escalade and waited for his team to buckle up before he pulled into traffic. “Blow it out your ass,” he muttered at a driver who honked his horn.

After a brief stop at a drive-through, the team drove on, eating barbecue sandwiches with coleslaw and drinking sweet tea, except for David, who asked for unsweetened and took a ribbing for it. After a twenty-minute drive, Art pulled over on the side of the road. To the left was a rock face blasted from the foothill. To the right was a wide gravel shoulder, a railing, and a sharp drop-off.

Art pointed across the road at the shoulder. “That’s where they found the car,” he said.

Raylan walked across the two-lane highway and squinted up the steep rock face behind the SUV. “It was the same head shot as the one that took out Quarles, right?”

“That’s right,” Rachel said. She opened her work bag and set her laptop on the hood of the Escalade. “According to the crime scene photos….” She looked over at Raylan. “To make that shot, our boy would have to have been standing in the road. Or he made an almost impossible shot straight down from this cliff.” She pointed.

“But the car was parked.” Raylan looked to Rachel for confirmation.

“Hang on.” Rachel got her phone out and made a call.

Raylan looked around in the gravel, kicking rocks aside with his boots, but he found nothing of note.

“The car wasn’t in park,” Rachel called across the road. “It coasted to a stop.”

“Christ, he’s even better than I thought,” Raylan said. “He timed his shot, which had to be perfectly placed so Tonin’s foot would come off the gas pedal, and the car would stop before missing the curve and going over the edge.”

“Why not let the car go over?” David asked.

“Because he wanted a display not a wreck at the bottom of a cliff.”

“Well, shit,” Art said. “Who is this guy?”

“I don’t know,” Raylan said as he crossed the road again. “But I think we need to start checking VA hospitals for high-risk patients with PTSD who haven’t checked in recently.”

“Rachel?” Art said.

“I’m on it, Chief.” Her fingers danced on the keyboard.

“David, call the pilot and tell him to warm up the jet.” Art turned to Raylan. “Are you good?”

“Yeah. I’m not feeling any strong residue. We’re done here.”

“Are you kidding me?” David exclaimed into his phone. He turned to Art. “Chief, you won’t believe it. There’s been another shooting.”

“Where?”

“Lexington.”

“Tell the pilot to file a flight plan to Lexington,” Art said. “Hot damn. This boy is on fire.”

“Or girl,” David said.

Raylan shook his head emphatically. “It’s not a woman.”

It was a ten-minute drive to the airport. A Federal agent met them to take charge of the SUV, and then they boarded the G-6. Raylan fell asleep right after takeoff and didn’t wake until they landed three hours later.


	4. Four

Another clean kill. Another mental check mark. The target would never again use his power to coerce women and children into slavery. The world was a better place without him in it.

Still… the target was such a small fish. There were others out there in the dark who were responsible for ruining so many lives. He was done with minnows. It was time to go after the sharks. The rifle case bumped his leg as though reminding him of its lethal presence.

He sighted the car he’d left parked between two streetlights. He also spotted several young men loitering around the car. Without breaking stride, he turned left at the cross street and strolled off at the same speed. He didn’t care about the car; it was stolen and contained nothing that could be connected to him. There was nothing in his life that could be connected to him—not without some deep digging. As far as the world was concerned, he was a ghost.

The truth was, he just lived among the ghosts. The spirits were always with him and they were never satisfied until their earthly tormentors were punished. That was his job, and he showed up for his shift every night, ready to work.

He looked around for a likely vehicle as he worked his way downtown. He knew something suitable would turn up. His mission was sanctioned at the highest levels.

And there it was: a beat-up but sturdy Jeep Cherokee with manual drive in an overflow lot behind a bar. It took seconds to pop the lock, put the vehicle in neutral, and push it onto the inclined street. He jumped into the driver’s seat, and when the Jeep had enough speed going, he popped the clutch. The engine coughed to life, and he shifted into second. He turned the headlights on at the next corner and merged with traffic headed for the interstate on-ramp.

He drove for twenty minutes before exiting the interstate. After filling the Jeep’s tank at a truck stop, he drove country roads back to Lexington. His unerring sense of direction brought him back to the Derby Motor Court where he rented a room.

After parking behind the strip motel, he entered his room. He stowed the rifle under the bed without turning on a light. Fully clothed, he laid down and stared into the dark, knowing he wouldn’t sleep.

He wished C.K. was there, but that just wasn’t possible. C.K.’s ghost had stayed in the Sandbox. Still, he did what he could to appease it. The men who’d sold C.K.’s sister to a mobster had died in an elegant dining room and an expensive sports car this morning. And now the man who’d turned her into a prostitute was gone too.

He hoped like hell C.K. knew those men were dead.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A possible witness is found.

Sheriff Shelby Parlow was waiting when the CIRG team disembarked. Round and bearded, he resembled a favorite grand-uncle more than a law enforcement officer, but he was obviously on top of things. He escorted Art and Raylan to his cruiser, while David and Rachel rode with a deputy in a marked SUV. The ride to the crime scene wasn’t long, but it gave the sheriff enough time to add some local flavor to the dry police report.

“As you know, your vic is Albert Fekus, 36, a guard up at the women’s detention center, or as he liked to say, the Pussy Pen. Excuse my French.” Shelby coughed. “Fekus lived with his mother, Bertie. She’s got a failing liver. We called her caregiver, so there’s someone with her.”

“Go on,” Art prompted.

“Fekus’s living circumstances are the reason he was in the backseat of a parked car at seven in the evening.”

“Got it,” Art said. Through the windshield, he saw flashing lights ahead. Between beats of red and blue, he saw swings, monkey bars, and a tall slide. “A playground?”

“Yeah, Fekus had no class at all.” Shelby sighed as he pulled off the road. He parked the cruiser next to a crime scene van and his deputy stopped behind him. “This way.” Shelby gestured.

A deputy held up the crime scene tape so the CIRG team could duck under. Just beyond the playground was a line of shade trees. Under one of the trees was a brown sedan with a shattered back window. The team converged on it, except for Raylan. Raylan walked past the car as though it didn’t exist. Shelby watched him walk to the trees and then turned to Art.

“We’ve got our own style of working a scene,” Art said. “But we get results.”

“So, I hear.” Shelby spread his hands. “I’m not making judgments. I’m just here to render any assistance needed.”

Rachel and David were already inspecting the vehicle and the body in the back seat. Raylan was out of sight behind the tree line. Art took off his cap and ran a hand over his thinning hair. As he put the cap back on, he said a brief prayer that Raylan would find something. The bodies were starting to pile up.

 

Break

 

Raylan’s boots crunched through the fallen leaves, but he wasn’t worried about the noise. He wanted to announce his presence to the one he sensed waiting for him.

“Hey,” he called softly. “I ain’t goin’ to hurt you.”

Raylan heard a slight sound to his left, but he didn’t look in that direction.

“I know you’re scared, but I promise you’ll be all right if you come out.” Raylan drew his jacket aside to reveal his badge and gun. “You see this? If anyone else tries to hurt you, I’ll shoot ‘em.”

“Are you really a cop?” The woman’s voice trembled with fear.

“I really am. The man who tried to hurt you is dead.”

“I thought he must be.” A waifish woman with dark hair and eyes rose from the screen of tall grass. “There was so much blood.”

Raylan nodded. Her face, arms, and pink tank top were covered in blood. He held out a hand, and she came toward him as though expecting a beating but unable to say no.

“What’s your name?” Raylan asked gently.

“Ellen May.”

“I don’t mean nothin’ by it, but are you a professional, Ellen May?”

“I’m a whore, if that’s what you mean.”

“Okay. I ain’t judgin’ you. How did you know the victim?”

“Albert’s always lookin’ for a freebie.”

“How does he rate a freebie?”

“I’m just plannin’ ahead, so when I go back to the pen, he’ll be good to me.”

“So, Albert used his position as prison guard to extort sex from you?”

Distracted by Raylan’s questions, Ellen May had stopped shaking. She made a scoffing noise. “Me and every other girl on the stroll. He’s a real pig.”

“I take it you will shed no tears for him.”

“Point out his grave and I’ll piss on it.”

“Fair enough.” Raylan paused. “I think you ought to have a doctor look at you. Would that be all right? I’m not arresting you or anything.”

“I think I’d just as soon go home.”

Raylan grimaced. “I’m sorry, but you’ll have to come with me. You’re a witness to a homicide.”

“But all I saw was that dumbass look on his face just before his blood sprayed all over me.”

Raylan took her arm. “It won’t be so bad. You’ll like Rachel, and you can order whatever you want from any takeout in town. All we want is to ask you some questions.”

“Couldn’t _you_ just ask me?”

“It’s better if there’s a witness to your testimony.”

“Will it take long?”

“I sure hope not.”

As they walked out of the trees, Raylan waved to get Rachel’s attention. She came over with Art on her heels.

“This is Ellen May,” Raylan said. “She was in the car with Fekus.”

“You’re a brave young lady,” Art said. “Come over here and sit in the car. The a/c is on and you’ll be a lot more comfortable.”

Raylan watched his boss expertly gentle the young woman into the back of the deputy’s SUV. He got in on the other side, as Art got behind the wheel and Rachel got in the front passenger seat.

Rachel offered Ellen May a bottle of water that was gratefully accepted. “Can you tell us what happened?” Rachel asked.

“Sure.” Ellen May looked around. “I’m guessin’ none of you smoke, huh?”

“Sorry,” Art said. “But when we’re done, we’ll take you wherever you want to go.”

Ellen May drank more water. “I was takin’ the day off,” she said. “But then Al called me and said he was comin’ by to pick me up. He drove here, just like I knew he would.”

“This his favorite spot for rapin’?” Raylan asked.

Ellen May looked at him with wide eyes. “It wasn’t like that.”

“If you didn’t want to have sex with him, it was rape.”

Ellen May bit her lip. “If you say so. He brung me here and we got in the back, like always. I was just gettin’ down to business, and he was havin’ a hard time, only not so hard, you know? And then, his head blew up.”

“Did you happen to notice anyone in the area when you got here?” Rachel asked.

“There wasn’t no one. Kids are in school and junkies are still sleepin’.”

“So, you saw nothing unusual?”

Ellen May chewed her lip again. “It’s funny. I thought I saw a flash just before it happened. Like when the sun shines off chrome and it’s like a knife in your eye?”

“A scope,” Raylan said.

“Or a muzzle flash,” Art said.

“Is there anything else you think we should know?” Rachel asked.

“Al was a pig, and he got what he deserved.”

“Okay then,” Art said. “Raylan and Rachel, go on about your business. I’m going to make sure this young lady is seen to, and then I’ll join you.”

“Goddam,” Rachel said to Raylan as Art escorted the girl over to the sheriff. “Our boy is wiping out some major shit-stains. I’m not sure I want to find him.”

Raylan nodded. “If we do, I’m going to shake his hand.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Raylan runs into a boyhood friend.

It was Art’s call, and he decided they would stay in Lexington overnight. He didn’t like the circles under Raylan’s eyes. He didn’t know how Raylan did what he did, but he knew it took a lot out of him. The jet was put on standby and rooms were rented at a place near the airport. Pizza was ordered and Vasquez was detailed to find beer. By nine p.m., the team was gathered around an empty box finishing their beers.

Art stood and stretched. “I’m goin’ to my room and call my wife. If anyone wants to play poker, text me. Otherwise….” He took a second beer. “I’ll be takin’ a bath and goin’ to bed.”

“Good night, Chief,” Rachel said, and David and Raylan echoed her.

Raylan got up and put on his hat. “I’m goin’ to clear my head,” he said.

“You want company?” Rachel asked.

“No, thanks. I just want to think about recent events and see if anything stands out.”

Raylan walked out into the cool evening and went to the road. He turned toward the cold glow of neon and a brief walk brought him to a rundown building with a BAR sign in the window. As he entered, someone called out his name, startling him. Raylan focused on the man walking toward him across the empty bar. 

“Boyd?”

“Yes, son, it’s me, Boyd Crowder.” Boyd hugged Raylan and stepped back. “How the hell have you been?”

“I’m good.”

“Well, come sit down, and let me pour you a drink.” Boyd led Raylan to the bar and sat on a stool next to him. A bottle of bourbon and several glasses were close at hand. Boyd poured two drinks and slid one over to Raylan. “To old friends.”

Raylan drank his shot and set the glass down. “Any chance of a cold beer?”

“Every chance in the world.” Boyd walked behind the bar, opened a bottle of Shiner, and set it on the bar.

“Much obliged.” Raylan took a long swallow of the cold, crisp beer. “Is this your place?”

“I’ve got a partner, but she ain’t hardly ever around. I run things the way I like.”

“If you’ll pardon me saying, this looks exactly like a front for somethin’ else.”

“If you’ll pardon me sayin’, you sound like a law man.”

“FBI.”

“I don’t believe it! And neither will anyone else in Harlan County.”

“Can we not talk about Harlan?”

“Okay. What brings you to Lexington?”

Raylan set down the beer bottle. “I’m on a case. A man was murdered in his car at a local park.”

“Seems kind of like small potatoes for the Federal BI.”

“The murder is related to a series of other killings.” Raylan pushed his glass toward Boyd and Boyd poured more bourbon. He wouldn’t normally talk about an investigation with a civilian, but the habit of telling Boyd everything came right back to him. It didn’t hardly seem possible they hadn’t seen each other in over a decade. Once upon a time, they’d been thick as thieves. “The similarities caught the eye of my team’s analyst, and here we are.”

“What makes this case so special?” Boyd clinked Raylan’s glass before he drank.

“It’s the manner of death.”

“Yeah, what’s that?” A new voice joined the conversation.

“Colt, I didn’t see you there,” Boyd said, as a man stood from his seat at a table against the wall. “When did you come in?”

“At nine when my shift started, of course.”

Colt pushed his long, blond hair back from his face as he walked toward the bar. Though he made no threatening gestures, he set off all Raylan’s alarms. He was like the thunderhead on the horizon that presages a storm.

“Have a seat.” Boyd patted the stool next to him.

Colt walked behind the bar and drew a draft beer. He took a long drink, set down the mug, and rested his elbows on the bar. “So, what’s manner of death?”

“Single shot through the brain stem,” Raylan said. “We’re up to seven now, I think.”

“Damn.” Colt said admiringly before he took another drink of his beer. “You know who you should look at for this?” He smiled. “Military sniper.”

“Quit fuckin’ around.” Boyd rolled his eyes. “Colt was a sniper,” he told Raylan.

Raylan returned Colt’s cobra smile. “Where were you this morning?”

“Aw, come on, now,” Boyd said. “You cain’t be serious.”

Raylan didn’t take his eyes off Colt. The man radiated imminent violence. “Where were you?”

“Running errands.”

“You happen to own a rifle?”

“It’s just a souvenir.”

“Would you object to me takin’ a look at it?”

Colt leaned forward with that lazy smile still on his lips. “The thing is, I don’t have it handy. It’s a little awkward to carry around.”

“Fair enough.” Raylan finished his beer and stood up. “I’d best be goin’. What do I owe you?”

“I am insulted.” Boyd got up to give Raylan another hug. “We been friends since grade school.”

“It was good to see you,” Raylan said. He gave Colt a hard look to let him know he wasn’t forgotten. “I didn’t catch your last name.”

“I didn’t throw it.” Colt grinned. “But it’s Rhodes, with an H.”

“Thanks for the hospitality.” Raylan put his hat on and went to the door. “Maybe I’ll see you around.”

Raylan walked back to the motel. As he was about to cross the road, a Jeep pulled out of the parking lot and turned north toward Frankfort. The driver turned his head as he passed, and his gaze met Raylan’s. For a moment that seemed an eternity, their eyes were locked. Raylan felt the slight shock that heralded contact with another soul, and then the Jeep was gone. Raylan shook off the wispy connection and went to find Rachel. The stranger in the Jeep might be a kindred spirit, but Raylan didn’t have time to find out. He needed to know everything there was to know about Colton Rhodes.


	7. Chapter 7

The next morning, Raylan shared his encounter with Colton Rhodes with his team mates. Rachel went right to work on researching him.

“You are a national treasure.” Rachel patted Raylan’s hand as she scrolled through another page on her laptop.

“How do you do it?” David asked as he poured more coffee into Raylan’s cup.

“I didn’t do anything. The guy walked right up to me.”

“He’s some piece of work,” Rachel said.

“Raylan or Colton Rhodes?”

Art came in with a box of pastries and set them on the kitchenette counter. He took the coffee David offered and walked over to stand behind Rachel. “We’re approved to stay in Lex as long as we need to,” he said. “That’s the good news.”

“What’s the bad news?” Raylan asked.

“Oh, there isn’t any. I was just messin’ with you.” Art sipped his coffee. “So, let’s hear it.”

“Colton Rhodes _was_ trained as a sniper, but he spent most of his military career as an MP. He barely made the honorable discharge. Multiple reports of excessive violence. Insubordination. Smuggling. Profiteering.”

“One of the higher-ups must’ve had a soft spot for him,” Art said. “What’s he been doin’ since he got out?”

“He’s worked mostly as freelance muscle. He’s carried out some hits. His record strongly suggests he’s a sociopath,” Rachel answered.

“I’m guessing you all like him for the shootings,” Art said.

“He’s very attractive,” Rachel said.

“Damn near irresistible,” Raylan added.

David nodded. “I’m ready to send flowers.”

“Okay then. Let the surveillance on Mr. Rhodes begin.” Art said. “Good work, team.”

 

Break

 

As he was leaving Lexington, the Angel saw C.K. standing on the side of the road wearing his stupid cowboy hat. The image stayed in his brain like an invisible beacon showing the way as he drove through the night. He didn’t know how C.K. had found him, but he was glad to have a guide again. Just outside of Frankfort, he stopped at a Motel 8 and got a room. He went back out and left the Jeep parked on the street several blocks away. The motel parking lot was full of vehicles he could take his pick of in the morning.

He laid down on his bed and let his arm hang over the side, fingertips brushing the rifle case. The pillow was flat and the mattress lumpy, but he didn’t notice things like that anymore. He stared at the shadow-webbed ceiling and saw C.K. standing on the side of a dark, endless highway where no cars would ever pass by.

“I’m keeping my promise,” he said to the phantom. “You kept my secret. I’ll keep my promise.”

Tomorrow, he would begin surveillance of his next target, but first, there was a detail to be checked off back in Lexington. He closed his eyes, though he knew he wouldn’t sleep.

In the morning, the compulsion that had rousted him the night before had faded. He never ignored the ghosts when they tried to communicate, but he didn’t always get the message right. Usually, it was like following instructions that had been translated from Japanese into English by someone who spoke neither language. It was times like this he really missed having his spotter at his side. Just knowing he wasn’t alone would be such an enormous relief, but it was not his fate to have the comfort of a comrade. Not for him the comforting warmth of strong arms. CK was gone. The Destroying Angel walked alone.

Not long after sunrise, he boosted a Charger from the motel parking lot and headed back to Lexington. He rolled down the window and drove fast letting the wind tug at his hair like a playful lover. The ghost of a smiled haunted the corners of his mouth as he sped toward the next victim. He should never have let the girl live. Shooting a woman didn’t sit well with him, but now she was a potential witness. She had to go.

 

Break

 

Raylan and Rachel sat in an unmarked car down the street from the pay-by-the-week hotel where Colton Rhodes currently resided. Art and David were at Boyd’s bar, where Colt worked as a bouncer.

“You really think this guy is our boy?” Rachel asked.

“He meets all the requirements.”

“But does he _feel_ right to you?”

“He’s a dangerous man and no mistake. He’d just as soon kill you as drink a cold beer on a hot day. _That’s_ how he feels to me.”

“Ohhh-kay.” Rachel pushed her optic yellow sunglasses up on her head. “It just seems to me, given his history, he’s not the type to get righteous and start offing bad guys.”

“Good point, but let’s stake him out just the same.”

“If you think I mind sittin’ in a car with you, you’re mistaken.” Rachel winked.

“You’ll make me blush.”

“Hush, is that him? Looks like him.”

Raylan turned to look. “Yep, that’s very much him.”

“He looks kind of sweet.”

“Well, he ain’t.” Raylan slumped in his seat when Colt turned in their direction. He radioed Art and informed him Colt was on the move.

Rachel pretended to look at her phone as Colt passed by on the other side of the street. “He didn’t even glance at us,” she said.

Raylan sat up as she turned the key in the ignition. He called Art again and let him know he and Rachel were moving.

Rachel pulled out in the opposite direction Colt had taken and circled the block.

“I see him,” Raylan said. “He’s turning south.”

Rachel took a side street and then turned left on a cross street. “See him?”

“Yep. He’s still heading this way. Find a place to park.”

Rachel and Raylan continued the tail on foot, separating to cover both sides of the street. Rachel walked toward Colt. Raylan down the sidewalk on the opposite side. After he passed Colt, he crossed the street and followed him. Rachel walked past him without glancing in his direction. He continued to tail Colt across the street and watched him walk into a bar.

Raylan radioed Rachel and let her know he was going into the bar. He looked for a sign with a name but couldn’t find one. He ended up telling her it had a fiberglass statue of a well-endowed rearing horse out front. After he hung up, he buttoned his jacket, and walked in.

The light was dim, which Raylan figured was a blessing given the funk of stale beer and male sweat in the air. He looked around, but he didn’t see Colt. He walked all the way to the back and found a short hall. At the end was a back door. He called Rachel and told her Colt had given him the slip. Maybe she could pick him up again on another street. He found it interesting that Colt was familiar with a leather bar, but he didn’t mention it to Rachel.


	8. Chapter 8

After a half hour more of looking, Rachel and Raylan admitted Colt had eluded them and headed back to the car. On the way, Rachel got a message over her headset. “Someone took a shot at Ellen May,” she told Raylan.

“Jeez, doesn’t this guy ever take a day off?” He asked as he got behind the wheel.

Rachel and Raylan arrived on scene at Ellen May’s duplex to find Sheriff Shelby guarding the door. Inside, Ellen May was a quivering shape under a blanket on her couch. Art was patting her shoulder. David was heating water on her hot plate to make tea.

“What happened?” Raylan asked.

“Looks like our boy took a shot at Ellen May,” Art said. “Lucky for her, he missed.”

“Our boy doesn’t miss,” Raylan said.

“He did this time,” David said as he handed Ellen May a mug.

“It’s more likely he just wanted to scare her,” Raylan said.

“Then his work here is done,” Ellen May managed to say. “I’m scared shitless.”

Rachel sat down next to her. “Of course, you are. It’s only natural.” She put a hand on the girl’s back. “Is there anything you can tell us that might help us catch him?”

She shook her head. “I heard a weird noise and then my piggy bank exploded. I’m sorry.”

“There’s nothing to be sorry for,” Art said. “Sheriff Parlow is going to take care of you. There’ll be someone with you at all times.”

The CIRG team went outside and the sheriff went inside. Art and his team stood in a circle on the duplex’s tiny lawn.

“Colt had time to get here after he got away from me,” Raylan said.

“Us,” Rachel amended. “He got away from us.” She acknowledged Raylan’s nod of gratitude with a small smile.

“Let’s see if we can’t locate him,” Art said. “And keep him from shootin’ anyone else.”

“Hang on.” Raylan took out his phone and made a call. “Colt’s at work,” he said when he hung up. “Boyd was lookin’ at him while we talked.”

“You want to stay on him?”

Raylan shook his head. “There’s something else I need to do.”

“Care to let us in on it?”

“Not yet.”

Art sighed. “Go on then, but you’d best check in with us.”

After dropping Raylan off downtown, Art went to stake out Colt’s house. Rachel and David went to Boyd’s bar and kept an eye on it.

 

Break

 

The temperature was nice. Not too cold, but cool enough for a light jacket that hid a holster and a backup piece in the waistband.

The Angel had promised God, Jesus, and the Devil himself that he wouldn’t do this again, but here he was prowling the streets, packed and looking for action. No matter how many times he vowed to quit, after a certain length of time, he found himself on the hunt again. He could pretend he didn’t need it, but he did.

Fortunately, there were places in every city that offered what he craved. In alleys, dark clubs, and public restrooms, he could find temporary, anonymous relief with a stranger and be on his way. No one used names and no one wanted to.

Tonight, the restlessness had driven him from his sleepless bed and led him to this shady section of downtown. He’d passed a bar earlier that he suspected would serve his needs. He’d have a few drinks, see who caught his eye, relieve his stress in some dark corner, and maybe he’d sleep tonight. He really needed to sleep. It had been almost seventy-two hours since he’d been out for more than a few minutes at a time.

He entered the bar without pausing in the foyer. He walked to the counter like he came in every night. He ordered a beer, and then turned to lean back against the bar and survey the room. As he’d suspected, this place catered to rough trade. Several of the patrons were clearly into dominant submissive games, but most were men who simply sought sex sans tenderness, as if it made them somehow less gay. That suited the Angel right down to the ground. _Wham, bam, thank you, man_ was exactly what he was looking for.

At first glance, no one in the place appealed to him, so he ordered a shot and another beer and found a table in a corner. It was a good vantage point to watch who came in the door. He’d perfected a narrow-eyed stare that warned off unwanted attention, and if an unwelcome suitor was persistent, he had no doubts about his ability to deal with it. He’d finished his second beer and ordered another shot when C.K. came in the door. A tall, broad-shouldered silhouette topped with a cowboy hat filled the doorway, and then he was lost in the crowd.

 

Break

 

Raylan walked into the bar Colt had ducked into earlier that day. He waited for his eyes to adjust before he left the foyer. It took a few minutes, but he could now clearly see his guess had been right. This was a gay bar. 

He went to the counter and ordered a beer. “Hey, you know a guy named Colton?” he asked the bartender.

“Only about a dozen.” The bartender smiled. “It’s popular name among this crowd.”

“What crowd is that?”

“Look around, my man. You got a few leather boys. Some S and M wannabes.” He pointed. “No way that guy’s not a cop. Are you getting my drift, cowboy?”

“Rough trade night?”

“Every night.” The bartender smiled. “You’ll be popular.”

Raylan tipped his hat and moved deeper into the bar with his beer bottle in hand, searching for something he couldn’t put a name to just yet. There was something here for him. Something, someone was waiting for him. He glanced at the dance floor and then at the tables. His gaze skipped over a dozen faces before stopping. He focused on the young man directly across the room in a shadowed corner. He knew they’d never met, but the stranger was hauntingly familiar. He’d seen that particular shade of hair before, a dark blond that burned red when the light hit it just right.

The stranger looked up and his eyes met Raylan’s. 

Raylan’s priorities made an abrupt quantum shift. It had been a while since he’d felt this particular stirring at his core and never this strongly. He loved women, loved the way they looked and smelled and felt and tasted, but every now and then, he wanted something different. It was something Boyd had called “the downlow,” when he’d introduced him to it back when they’d played baseball. Since then, from time to time, Raylan craved something wild. Tonight had just become one of those times.

Drawn like steel to a magnet, Raylan crossed to the stranger’s table. “Mind if I sit?” He pulled out a chair. “I’m—”

“I know who you are.”

Raylan nodded. No names. That was fine and more or less what he expected. “This is my first time here.”

“What a coincidence.”

Raylan smiled. He knew this dance well, and he was pretty good at it. “What are you drinkin’?”

“Beer and a shot.”

“Any preferences?”

The Angel looked Raylan up and down. “Whatever you want is fine by me.” He didn’t know what game C.K. was playing, but he didn’t mind playing along. At least he wasn’t alone, even if his company was a ghost.

Having heard the answer he was hoping for, Raylan went back to the bar and returned with two more beers and bottle of bourbon.

“You don’t mess around,” the Angel drawled, eyeing the bottle.

“Why do it if you’re going to half-ass it?” Raylan poured shots and drank his. The connection he felt with this guy was growing stronger by the second. It was a sweet, enveloping sensation like sinking slowly into sun-warmed honey. He loved this stage of attraction when all his receptors were open and drinking in the charge of sexual energy.

The Angel drank his shot. “I like the way you think,” he said. 

“Yeah?” Raylan leaned toward him. “Well, I think you’re hot, and I want to do bad things with you.”

“That makes me so hard.”

Raylan smiled. “You got a place?”

The Angel got to his feet. “For you, I’ll make one.”

Raylan picked up the bottle of bourbon and followed him outside.

 


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains a fairly explicit sex scene.

“This way.” The Angel gestured and Raylan followed him to the back of the building. 

As they walked, Raylan sized up the stranger out of habit. He looked to be about five-nine or ten, lean and lithe in Levi’s and a windbreaker. The street lights sparked copper in his dark-blond hair as he passed under it, and then he faded into the night. Raylan looked around, startled by the sudden disappearance.

The Angel’s voice came from the left. “My car’s parked right over here.”

Raylan put out a hand and felt the leaves of a hedge that was invisible in this corner away from the lights. He stepped around it and saw his hookup a few feet ahead. Parked in the last row was a muscle car with a long hood.

As soon they reached the Charger, Raylan wrapped his arms around the Angel from behind and bent him over the hood facedown. His excitement mounting swiftly, he pressed his crotch to the firm ass and leaned over, pinning his temporary partner to the cool metal.

Before it went further, Raylan had to ask. “You like it like this?”

“I like it just fine,” the Angel answered, giving verbal consent, since this guy seemed to need it. Obviously, this wasn’t C.K., but he reminded him of C.K., and that was enough to turn him on.

Raylan reached around, grabbed the edges of the windbreaker and pulled it down the Angel’s arms to his waist. The shirt followed, a button clicking against the hood as it flew off. Raylan stared at the tattoo that decorated the long, smooth muscles of the Angel’s back. A true artist had depicted wings that were so exquisitely shaded, they appeared three-dimensional in the moonlight. Raylan traced a delicate feather with his forefinger and then followed the same path with his tongue.

Arms trapped at his sides, the Angel shivered under Raylan’s weight and his caresses, but he was content with this for now. The bitter sweetness of being taken was what he desired and deserved, but he could wait for it now. All that mattered was that choice had been taken off the table. He put himself in this stranger’s hands and surrendered his will. For a brief time, he would not be responsible.

Raylan slid his hands around the Angel’s supple waist and found his zipper. He shoved the jeans down to the stranger’s knees and cupped his ass cheeks in both hands. He squeezed the tight muscles and was rewarded by a deep moan of arousal. Raylan couldn’t believe how turned on he was. He felt connected to this man by his very nerve endings, as if he could feel what the other was feeling, and it amplified the intensity of his pleasure.

The Angel knew it was going to be quick. He could feel the excitement rising like lava. He was sorry it wouldn’t last longer, but he could tell it would be a powerful release, all-consuming, of a magnitude to lift him out of himself, if only for a few moments. That was all he asked.

Raylan spat in his hand and added his saliva to the pre-cum already beading up. Insofar as he was thinking anything, he was marveling at his incredible luck hooking up with this… angel. Raylan paused with his dick in his hand as something scratched at the door of his consciousness. Something small and bright hovered in the dark trying to get his attention through the red fog of lust.

“Problem?” the Angel asked softly, and Raylan remembered why he was here.

He kicked the younger man’s feet farther apart and pressed a thumb to his hole. He took a minute to work the slick head of his cock into the tight opening, and then he wrapped his hands around the lean hips. Holding the Angel in place, Raylan thrust and buried half his length.

The Angel grunted, but he didn’t protest the forceful penetration. He curled his hands into fists, savored the burn, and waited for the next thrust to fill him.

“Okay?” Raylan asked breathlessly. The sensation of heat and pressure was exquisite. It took an effort of will to keep from pounding into that tightness.

“Are you here to talk, or are you here to rock?”

“Roger that.” Raylan tightened his grip and pumped his hips.

On the third thrust, the Angel pushed back, taking Raylan in to the hilt.

“Jesus H. Christ,” Raylan panted. He slid a hand down the Angel’s drumhead stomach and took hold of his hard-on. As he rolled his hips, slamming into the wet velvet heat, he shuttled his hand on the hard flesh. Each thrust was met with a solid counter-thrust that ratcheted his excitement up another notch. He didn’t know how much more he could stand without exploding from the delicious tension.

“Fuck yeah. Harder,” the Angel said from between clenched teeth.

Keeping his hold on the hard cock, Raylan wrapped his other arm around the slim waist and held on tight. He bent his knees and drove in as hard as he dared. The other man’s response was to clamp down on the rod that invaded him. Raylan groaned and thrust harder, rotating his hips at the end of his stroke. In three heartbeats, he felt the suede-skinned rod swell in his fist and hot fluid squirted between his fingers.

Raylan ran his hands up to the tattooed shoulders and gripped them tightly as he thrust. The Angel stirred restlessly and fell into Raylan’s rhythm, undulating under him. Raylan slid his hands down the hard muscles of the stranger’s biceps and forearms and wrapped his fingers around the corded wrists. He spread the sculpted arms on the hood of the car and increased the speed and power of his stroke. The Angel moved with him, clenching and easing up, until Raylan came with a hoarse cry, his seed unspooling deep inside the tight channel. For a few moments, they were fused together by afterglow, and then the Angel stirred.

“Sorry, man,” Raylan said. “I meant to pull—”

“I’m good. Just let me up, how about it?”

Raylan pulled out as quickly as he could and stepped back to zip up. “Sure am glad you felt like bottoming.”

The Angel finished straightening his clothes. He glanced at Raylan as he opened the driver’s door. “Would it have been a problem if I hadn’t?”

Raylan shrugged. “Let’s say it might not have gone as smooth.”

The Angel laughed softly as he came back to lean on the hood, crossing his legs at the ankle. He shook a cigarette out of a pack and lit it with an old-school Zippo. He offered the pack to Raylan.

“No thanks. Never got the habit.”

“I only smoke after sex. You wouldn’t believe how stale these cigarettes are.”

Raylan chuckled. “Long dry spell, was it?”

“You got no idea.” The Angel blew out a plume of silver-blue smoke. He took another drag and tossed the cigarette into a puddle. “Well….”

Raylan nodded. “Yeah.”

“Listen… thanks.”

“My pleasure, literally.” Raylan had no idea why they were still talking. Encounters like this were marked by their lack of verbiage. But he didn’t want to stop. He instinctively liked this man’s company, not to mention how compatible they were physically. He was actually toying with the notion of asking for a number.

The Angel gave him a wry smile and then got into his car. “Wish I could say I’ll see you around,” he said before he closed the door.

Raylan listened to the big engine rumble into life and knew there was nothing to be done. The guy was going to drive away and that would be that. He’d never get the chance to find out if this intense attraction was anything more than a world-class fuck. He raised his hand and waved as the Charger pulled out of the parking lot. He already regretted letting him go.

As Raylan made his way back to the motel, he tried to gain some perspective on the evening’s adventure. He told himself he’d been so pent-up that he’d exaggerated the experience into a mind-blowing sextravaganza. It was a rough tumble in a parking lot that couldn’t have lasted more than five minutes. The only significance was the confirmation of his weakness.

However, he couldn’t quite convince himself that the encounter meant nothing. It wasn’t just another sin in a long chain of moral slips. It meant something, he was sure of it. But he would never know what.


	10. Chapter 10

The Angel sleeps. Bars of light from the blinds bind him to the bed and ward off nightmares. In his dream, he walks a landscape of burnished gold and sky blue. In the distance, a man in a cowboy hat stands atop a desert ridge. It takes years, but the Angel reaches the crest of the dune. The man in the hat offers him a red ribbon. The Angel takes the ribbon and feels it move in his hand. He looks up and sees a red kite at the end of the ribbon. When he looks back down, the cowboy is gone. The ribbon tugs at his hand.

The Angel wakes. He closes the blinds before he rises and then pulls the drapes. He has slept too late because he chose to stay in Lexington last night. He will be tired and not at his sharpest. His saving grace is that today is a research day, and although it’s already after nine, he’s already in Frankfort. Here in the capital city of Kentucky, he can find the information he needs.

 

Break

 

“Does anyone have anything to add to Rachel’s summary?” Art looked around the table. His team looked back at him over the remains of an early lunch. “Anyone?” He focused on Raylan. “You have anything new?”

“Sorry, what?” Raylan looked away from the view of Denny’s parking lot.

“Your secret mission last night?” Art prompted.

“Let me guess,” David said. “While we were tailing Colt, you were getting tail.”

“You’re a crude man, Vasquez.” Raylan sipped his coffee.

“And you aren’t denying it,” Rachel said.

“I swear it’s like workin’ in a soap opera,” Art said. “Raylan’s sex life is nobody’s business but his. Same goes for all of you.” He looked at Raylan. “What _were_ you doing last night?”

“I scoped the bar where Colt ditched me, and yeah, I hooked up. In the parking lot. On the hood of a car.” Raylan took another sip of coffee.

Art chuckled. “That’ll teach you rookies to mess with Raylan.”

“I don’t think he’s being sarcastic, Chief,” Rachel said.

“I don’t care.” Art signed the bill and handed it back to the server. “Okay, crew, here’s the word. Since we did such a piss-poor job of keepin’ an eye on Mr. Rhodes last night, we’re goin’ to take another run at it today. Thank Christ, there wasn’t another shooting.”

“I’ll take Boyd’s bar,” Raylan said. “But I ain’t gonna wait outside.”

“What are you thinkin’?” Art asked.

“Boyd and I go way back. It won’t be weird for me to go in and shoot the shit with him. I figure Colt will get antsy with me around and look for a reason to be elsewhere.”

“And then we tail him,” Rachel said. She held up her hand for a high five.

Raylan slapped her hand.

“Sounds good to me,” Art said. “Rachel and David, you’ll be in separate cars at either end of the block. I’m going to stake out Colt’s house from that empty lot on the next street. We all clear?”

The team answered in the affirmative and scattered to perform preparatory tasks. Rachel found a coffee shop with wi-fi and spent a couple of hours on research. David was detailed to pick up another official vehicle. Raylan napped until it was late enough for a drink.

 

Break

 

“Raylan,” Boyd called out as Raylan entered the bar. “You’re still in town.”

Raylan put his hat on the counter and sat down. “I am, and I have the night off.”

“Hot damn! We gonna have a big time.” Boyd put a shot of tequila in front of Raylan.

“Let’s try not to break anything,” Raylan toasted before he tossed back the shot.

“Any luck with your serial killer?”

“None whatsoever. This guy is a ghost.”

“Me and Colt were talkin’ about it before he left. He had some theories.”

“Is he comin’ back?”

“Nah, it’s his night off. He’ll be at the tittie bar over on Boone.”

Raylan hoped Rachel and David were reading this loud and clear over the wire. “Too bad. I’ll listen to any theory.”

Boyd opened beers and poured shots before he spoke again. “Colt remembered something after you left. You were talking about how your boy always targets the brain stem. Like that’s his signature or something.”

“That’s right.”

“Colt said there was a sniper in Iraq same time as him who was a legend. He never missed, this guy. Always put one through the brain stem. They called him the Destroying Angel.”

“Destroying Angel?” Raylan repeated.

Boyd nodded. “Apparently, he had wing tattoos.”

Raylan stared at Boyd. “What?”

“He had wings tattooed on his back. Snowy owl wings according to Colt. Said whoever did the ink was a real artist. They looked, you know, realistic.”

“The hell you say.”

“You okay, Raylan?” Boyd said. “You look kind of sick.”

“I had lunch at Denny’s.”

Boyd nodded and poured Raylan another shot. “This’ll fix it.”

Raylan drank the shot though he knew it wouldn’t fix it. Nothing could fix it. And he had a call to make.

 

Break

 

“I’ve got him, Chief,” Rachel said into her headset’s mic. “He’s in the alley behind the club. Over.”

“Stay on him,” Art said. “David, cover the other end. Over.”

“Already on it, Chief. Out.”

Rachel kept her eyes on Colt who was approaching a woman who had her back to him. He didn’t seem to have a weapon, but appearances were often deceiving. Rachel tensed as Colt drew even with the smoking woman, but he walked past with nothing more harmful than a leer. She called David and warned him.

Two minutes later, David came on the radio with the information that he was following Colt in a southerly direction. Rachel hurried to catch up. When she spotted him again, he was climbing a fire escape. Art ordered her to hang back while David took the elevator.

“He’s going to the roof,” Rachel told David. “I didn’t see a weapon.”

“He could have a rifle broken down under that combat jacket,” Art said.

“Pretty awkward, Chief,” David said.

“Get off the radio, David,” Rachel snapped.

“Relax, I’m still in the elevator.”

Rachel stared up at the roof. She barely noticed when Art joined her.

“I’m opening the roof access door,” David said softly. “I don’t see anyone. Wait. I see him. He has something in his hands, and he’s looking over the edge.”

“Take him if you can. We’re on our way,” Art said.

Art and Rachel raced inside the building and took the elevator to the top floor. A flight of stairs led to the roof access door. Art exchanged a glance with Rachel, and she nodded. She took hold of the door knob and flung the door open when Art gave the signal. He stepped out with his gun in his hand. Over by the retaining wall, David held a gun on Colt.

“You’re making a mistake,” Colt said.

“He set something on the ground next to the wall,” David said.

“Step over here,” Art told Colt.

“Okay, but I’m tellin’ you, you’re all gonna feel real stupid.”

Rachel circled over to the wall. “It’s a telescope,” she called to Art.

Colt smirked.

“All right,” Art said. “What’s the story?”

“I have an arrangement with a woman in the building across the street. She lets me peek in her windows, and I pay her for the privilege.”

“Why?” David said before he could stop himself.

“You can’t figure it out?” Colt said. He mimed jerking off.

“But you could pay her to have sex with her.”

“Never mind, Vasquez,” Rachel said. “What do you want to do with him, Chief?” She nodded at Colt.

Before Art could speak, his phone rang. “Yeah, Raylan, what is it? We’re a little busy. What?” He paused. “Your timing could be better. Yeah. See you there.”

“What’s up?” Rachel asked.

“Raylan says it isn’t Colt,” Art said wryly.


	11. Chapter 11

The Angel left the Charger on a side street in downtown Frankfort. It was a fine car, and he walked away with a twinge of something he’d once known as regret. Now, all he had was purpose and a debt that was almost paid. It didn’t matter what he drove, what he ate, or where he slept. All that mattered was the list, and it was time to check off another name.

He was almost at the top of the chain now. Avery Markham’s fingerprints were on every aspect of the hillbilly black market. There was nothing illicit this man did not deal in. He trafficked in drugs, guns, and human beings. The ultimate blame for the death of C.K.’s baby sister fell on Markham’s shoulders. He would be the next to die.

The Angel boosted a motorcycle from the parking lot of a gym and drove to his motel at the city limits. He picked up the rifle case from his room and went back out to the bike. He hooked his arms through the handles of the case backpack-style and mounted up. Markham wasn’t at his Frankfort residence. He was checking on his investments in Lexington.

As the Angel rode back to Lexington, he thought about his dream of C.K. He wished he knew what C.K. was trying to tell him. What did the red kite mean? Was it a symbol of taking on the burden of C.K.’s vengeance? Or was is it something else? Maybe it didn’t mean anything. He wished he could believe that it didn’t mean anything.

The big motorcycle reeled in the miles, tires droning on the highway, lulling the Angel’s restless thoughts. Distraction was not desirable now. The target must be his only focus.

 

Break

 

“Well now,” Boyd said as he looked around. “I never expected to have a team of serial killer hunters in my club.”

“Mighty decent of you to host us,” Art said. “And thank you for the coffee.”

“Let me know if you need anything else.”

“They might need some wet wipes for the egg on their faces,” Colt said.

David leaned to whisper to Rachel. “I still can’t believe that woman corroborated his story.”

Rachel shrugged. “Takes all kinds.”

“Dial it back,” Raylan told Colt. “So, you’re not a kill-crazy sniper. You’re still a dirtbag.”

Colt smirked. “You can’t arrest me for that.”

“More’s the pity.” Raylan glanced at Boyd.

Boyd sat down next to Colt. “Say, you remember telling me about that sniper in Iraq?”

“The Angel?”

“Yeah. So?”

“We’d like to hear some more about him,” Raylan said.

“Oh, I get it. I’m out as a suspect, and you’re clutching at straws.” Colt shook out a cigarette and lit it. “Is that about right?”

Rachel leaned forward in her chair. “Any help you can give us would be appreciated.”

Colt laughed. “Okay, sister. I haven’t forgotten you drew down on me along with these clowns, but I like your sashay.” He took a drag off his cigarette and blew smoke toward the ceiling. “The Destroying Angel was one of the first stories I heard when I landed. I thought it was bullshit.” He glanced around the table. “I mean, a guy who never misses and makes the _same_ shot every time? That’s Ripley’s, right?”

“He’d be like the world’s best shot,” David said.

“No shit.” Colt took another drag. “Here’s my story. I was part of a convoy, riding shotgun in a Frankenstein with two others behind us and an armored car out front. Our idiot C.O. was in the lead car. When the haji popped up in the road, he ordered the driver to stop instead of running the asshole over. So, there we are, ducks in a row, with this village idiot standing in the road. And he’s holding a detonator.”

“What did you do?” Art asked.

“Me personally? I could see over the car, and I thought very hard about hanging my piece out the window and shooting the piece of shit. But—” Colt blew out more smoke. “What if he still pushed the button? We were parked on top of explosives. So… we sat there for a few minutes while the haji jabbered at the C.O. Just when I was starting to get itchy, I heard that sound that lets you know somebody just fired a high-powered rifle. That Iraqi hit the ground like a sack of pig guts, dead on arrival.” He closed his eyes as though picturing it. “I looked back and saw a flash from a ridge behind us, or maybe I just thought I did.” He opened his eyes. “When I checked later with GPS, the ridge was something like 4000 yards away. I’m assuming at least one of you can appreciate the significance of that number.”

“That would be a world record, if it was verified,” Raylan said.

“Yep.” Colt pinched his cigarette out between his forefinger and his thumb. “That was the Angel.”

“You ever meet him?” Raylan asked.

“Yep. I put out the word I wanted to thank the guy. Never heard a whisper for something like three months. A couple of weeks after I joined the military police, I helped break up a brawl, and met this guy who went by C.K. He claimed to be the Angel’s spotter.” Colt leaned back in his chair and looked at Raylan. “Now that I think about it, he looked kind of like you.”

“So, he introduced you?” Raylan ignored Colt’s remark.

Colt winked. “The next time I saw C.K. was at a barbecue. Guys in skivvies and undershirts grilling black market meat and drinking smuggled-in booze. Guys playing volleyball with rock’n’roll blasting from a boom box. You felt like the heat was going to melt you but you kind of liked it.”

Art cleared his throat. “I’m sorry to interrupt your homoerotic recollections, but we’re on the clock here.”

Rachel coughed into her hand and took a drink of her tea.

“Okay then, boss.” Colt tipped Art a sarcastic salute. “That was the day C.K. introduced me to the legend.” He chuckled. “This guy was all of nineteen, probably weighed a buck-forty soaking wet. He had freckles for fuck’s sake. To look at him, you’d never believe he was a stone-cold killer who’d already scored in the double digits.”

“Did you get his name?” Raylan prompted.

“As a matter of fact, I did.” Colt smirked again. “And I’ll give you that name for an apology.” He turned to gaze at David. “You called me a pervert.”

David cleared his throat. “That was a terrible mistake on my part. I don’t know you personally, and I’m certainly in no position to judge you. I hope you’ll accept my heartfelt apology.”

“Tim Gutterson,” Colt said. He sat back with a grin on his face as the team bolted for the door.


	12. Chapter 12

“Rachel,” Art said, as the team piled into the Escalade.

“I’m on it, Chief.” Rachel opened her laptop before buckling her seatbelt. By the time they reached the motel, she had a brief profile.

Raylan put on a pot of coffee in the kitchenette while the team listened to Rachel. He needed a few minutes to regain some equilibrium. Things were starting to happen faster and the longer he kept his secret, the higher the potential for disaster. He’d taken an oath, and he knew where his loyalty lay, but in his heart, he wasn’t committed to catching this killer. And it ate at him.

“Timothy Gutterson, no middle name, age twenty-eight, no fixed address, driver’s license hasn’t been renewed since he came home on an honorable,” Rachel said before taking a breath. “His military record is mostly statistics, so we can assume he operated under the radar. Over 300 confirmed kills, if anyone’s interested.

“Going back to the beginning, he was born in Virginia. Orphaned by a car crash at three. No record of an adoption. No baby or school photos. Huh. No photos at all. The military i.d. and driver’s license photos aren’t here. Weird.”

“You know what else is weird? Healthy, white, male toddler?” Raylan shook his head. “No way he doesn’t get adopted.”

“There must have been a reason,” Rachel said. “But I don’t see it here. In fact, there isn’t a lot to see until he joins the service.”

“What about this guy C.K.?”

“Give me a minute.” Rachel set some searches in motion and sipped her coffee. She had answers in seconds. “C.K. is Lance Corporal Troy Smallwood. Or was. He was Gutterson’s spotter, as Rhodes indicated. From what I make of this report, Smallwood killed himself while on active, though it’s listed as accidental.”

“Keep looking,” Art said. “Meanwhile, us dumb, old boys will see if we can figure out the next link in the chain.”

“It’s tough when the only common thread is that all the vics are douchebags,” David said.

Raylan high-fived him. “But there must be a reason he singled out these particular turds.”

Rachel cleared her throat. “Just prior to his death by accidental fire, Smallwood had received the news of his sister’s death. I found a local news story about it. Teresa “Teri” Smallwood was a prostitute and a heroin addict found beaten to death in an alley right here in Lexington. She was fifteen at the time.”

“Shit,” Raylan said. “If you want motive, there it is.”

“You think he’s killing everyone who had a hand in the death of his friend’s sister?” David asked.

“Too far-fetched for you?” Raylan looked across the table at Art. “I’m not wrong,” he said. “This guy, this _angel_ of death, is avenging that little girl. I don’t think it. I _know_ it.”

“Destroying Angel,” Rachel said.

Everyone turned to look at her.

“He’s the Destroying Angel not the Angel of Death.”

Raylan gave her an incredulous look. “Allow me some license?”

“I always do.”

Raylan smiled. “Cross-check Terri Smallwood with the sniper’s victims.”

“Way ahead of you. When she was twelve, she was picked up for shoplifting by… well, well, Officer Albert Fekus, our dead prison guard. A year later, she caught a vagrancy charge and was bailed out by none other than Robert Quarles. I think we can safely consider Mr. Tonin a two-fer.” She paused. “This is interesting. An earlier victim, Wynn Duffy, was killed in Chicago, but he was employed in Frankfort. A month before her death, Duffy signed permission for an abortion claiming to be a legal guardian.”

“Jesus,” Art said. “That poor kid.”

“What’s the common denominator?” David asked.

“Hang on.” Rachel looked steadily at her screen as a smile grew on her face. “All of the vics worked directly or indirectly for Avery Markharm.”

“The Redneck Godfather,” Raylan said.

“Let’s find out where that gentleman is at right now,” Art said. He pulled out his phone and called home base leaving his team to their work.

 

Break

 

Avery Markham, all in white, is attending a wedding in a garden. The bride is young, but she’s older than C.K.’s sister will ever be. The Angel watches her through the scope when he tires of watching Avery. He can’t wait to stain that white suit with red, and he’s afraid he’ll fire too soon, if he doesn’t look away from time to time.

He shifts his weight slightly on the wide branch. Even with elbow and knee pads, the bark digs into his skin, but he ignores the discomfort. Soon, everyone in the garden will sit for the ceremony, and he’ll have a window of opportunity with a high potential for success. He anticipates no significant difficulties. He’ll take Markham out and check him off.

And then there will be one name left on his list.

The Angel brought the rifle stock tight against his shoulder again and sighted down the scope. Markham was easy to pick out in the white suit, but there were bystanders too close behind him. There was a commotion in the crowd and then C.K. came into view. As though his appearance was a signal, the Angel pulled the trigger.

 

Break

 

Raylan was first out of the vehicle, running up the front steps of the mansion, flashing his badge and gun, and asking for Avery Markham. With the rest of the team not far behind, he followed the wedding planner out to the garden. The hostess was not pleased at the disturbance, but she pointed out Markham who stood near a gazebo.

“Everyone get down or behind cover!” Raylan shouted as he ran toward Markharm.

Art, Rachel, and David herded guests to cover as they hurried after Raylan. Markham was staring at the madman in the cowboy hat hurtling toward him. He put a hand in his pocket, and then he fell to the ground face-first. Two feet away from him, Raylan was sprayed with hot blood. Screams rose above the music.

Raylan stood over Markham, wiped the blood from his eyes, and sighted along the path the bullet had taken. He could feel the heat of the ions disturbed by the missile’s passage. He could almost see the strand that connected the bullet to the shooter. Without hesitation, he ran across the yard and entered the landscaped woods.

Art got on the radio even as he waved to Rachel and David to follow Raylan.

Raylan ran full-tilt, heedless of obstacles, which seemed to move magically from his path. He was following a trail that didn’t require sight. That ephemeral thread of spider-silk connected him to one who waited just ahead. He could feel a cold but molten spirit like frozen lava. He recognized it for they had touched one night under the moon. He yearned toward it for this was his purpose. He was the one who set things right. And his true companion awaited him.

Raylan heard a motorcycle start up, and he ran faster, though it was futile. He knew the sound of a dirt bike. No way he’d catch up to it in the trees, but he kept running anyway. As he burst out of the green belt onto a one-lane road, he saw the bike headed away from the mansion. The rider’s hair had a warm tinge of red in the afternoon sun. He looked over his shoulder and met Raylan’s eyes for a split-second, and then he was gone. But that glance was an arrow that flew true and struck Raylan’s soul.

Raylan forced himself to turn around and head back. He called Art and asked for a roadblock and helicopter just before he ran into Rachel and David.

“Jesus,” Rachel said. “You look like Carrie after the prom.”

“That’s kind of apropos,” David said. “Markham was a pig, after all.”

Rachel rolled her eyes. “Are you okay, Raylan?”

“Yeah, this is all Markham’s blood, but I got a nasty stitch in my side.” What he had was an arrow through his soul, but he couldn’t very well say that.

David said. “Lean on us.”

Raylan grateful accepted. His strength had fled with the Angel. With his arms around Rachel and David’s shoulders, Raylan made it back to the garden. “Thanks,” he said. “I got my wind back now.”

“Did you get a look at him?” Art asked.

Raylan shook his head and immediately wished he could take back the tacit lie, but what did it matter? They weren’t going to catch him, unless he wanted to be caught.

“Okay, that’s a wrap here,” Art said. “We’ll coordinate with the staties and the eye in the sky from the car. Let’s go, people.”

The search was called off at dark. As Raylan predicted, the shooter was gone without a trace. The question now became, who was his next target?


	13. Chapter 13

The Angel pulled into a truck stop and left the dirt bike near the coin-operated tire inflator. He went in, bought a souvenir T-shirt, and paid for a shower. In fifteen minutes, he returned to the bike, retrieved his rifle from the bushes, and walked over to the semi overnight lot. He caught up with a rig leaving the lot. The driver was a vet and happy to let him hitch a ride. When the trucker dropped him off on an interstate ramp, he hitched a ride back to Lexington. He left the rifle case in a locker at a local gym, and shortly after ten p.m., he walked into the Mustang Bar. It was a bonehead move coming back here, but he couldn’t help himself.

He’d completed his latest mission, but he was still nerved up. He had hit the target but seeing C.K. in his scope had shaken him. And then, when he’d made his getaway, he’d seen C.K. in his mirror. He knew it wasn’t really his dead friend and spirit guide, but it affected him the same way. It was stupid to come back here—a rookie mistake—but he _had to know_ who the man in the cowboy hat really was.

Curiosity had brought him here, but there was at least one more reason he hoped to see the man in the cowboy hat again. In the best of all possible worlds, they’d meet for a repeat performance. But this was far from the best of any world.

 

Break

 

Colt guzzled down a beer standing at the bar and immediately signaled for another.

The bartender uncapped a bottle and set it in front of Colt. “Here you go. Say, any chance you’ll be around when I get off?”

Colt grinned. “Why don’t you suck my balls while I think about it?”

The bartender’s expression stiffened, and he left to take another drink order.

“You a natural asshole or you work at it?” someone drawled from Colt’s left.

Colt turned to face the speaker, prepared to tell him to fuck off. His eyes widened when he got a look at the man. “A little of both,” he said instead.

The Angel smiled. “What’re you drinkin’, soldier?”

 

Break

 

Rachel stood, touched her toes, and stretched her arms over her head.

“More coffee?” David asked.

“God, no. My back teeth are floating.” Rachel sat back down behind her laptop.

Art snored softly on one of the twin beds. Raylan sat across from Rachel looking at files she’d sent to his iPad.

“Is there any pizza left?” Raylan asked.

“Sorry,” David said.

“Is it too late to call for take-out?”

“No more pizza please,” Rachel pleaded wearily. “Why doesn’t anyone deliver breakfast?”

“It’s eleven at night,” David said.

Raylan stood. “I’m goin’ out.” He put on his hat and walked out of the motel room.

“Should one of us follow him?” David asked.

“He’s a grown-ass man,” Rachel said.

“In whose opinion?”

“In case it escaped your notice, Vasquez,” she said. “That was a fully-functioning adult that just walked out of here. If he gets into trouble, he’ll own it.” Rachel softened her tone. “Why don’t you get some rest too? I’ll move over to the other room.”

“Thanks.”

Rachel unplugged, slid her machine into her bag, and went next door. In fifteen minutes, she was soaking in a tub of hot water up to her chin.

 

Break

 

“I feel like I know you,” Colt said.

“You don’t.” The Angel tossed back a shot of tequila and followed it with a long swallow of cold beer. “And so what?” He set the empty bottle down next to its twin.

“Right.” Colt signaled for another round.

“You rich?”

Colt smiled. “Temporarily.” He glanced over at the Angel. “Why don’t we get a table?”

“I don’t know why we _wouldn’t,_ but I can think of one good reason why we should.”

“What’s that?” 

“So, no one will see you givin’ me a hand job.” 

Colt chuckled. “I just can’t shake the feeling I’ve met you before.” 

“Try harder.” 

Colt led the way to a table in a dark corner. “Just so you know, if you do want a hand job, I got two hands. I can drink with one and jerk you off with the other.” 

“I admire a man who can multi-task.” 

“Great, but can we stop dancing and get down to it?” 

“What did you have in mind?” 

“I take you out back and fuck you standing up against the wall.” 

“Do I get a reach-around?” 

Colt smirked. “If you be good to daddy, daddy be good to you.” 

The Angel took a drank straight from the tequila bottle. “Bein’ good ain’t one of my strong points,” he said when he set the bottle down. 

Colt’s smirk twisted into a predatory grin. “Are you a bad boy? Do you need a spanking from daddy?” 

“If we’re gonna talk dirty, let’s go somewhere we won’t have an audience.” 

“You are so smokin’ hot, I’d do you right here, right now, and I don’t care who watches.” 

“I do.” 

“Why didn’t you say so?” Colt stood up and gestured to the back door. “After you.” 

Break 

When Raylan walked into the Mustang, the bartender smiled at him. Raylan made his way over and ordered a beer. 

“Who you lookin’ for tonight, cowboy?” the bartender asked. 

“I wish I knew.” 

The bartender chuckled. “If it helps, I’m sure you can take your pick.” He gestured to the crowd. 

Raylan sipped his beer. “Nothin’ appeals,” he said. 

“Did that redhead spoil you?” 

“What?” 

“Hey, no offense, but I see just about everything that goes on in here. A few nights ago, I saw you go out the back with a guy I had my eye on. He had that quiet cool, you know?” 

“I remember.” 

“I just bet you do. If you’re looking for him, you’re too late.” 

“He was here?” 

“He walked out with a guy just before you came in. Hey!” the bartender called out, but he was talking to Raylan’s back. 


	14. Chapter 14

Raylan walked out the back door to the parking lot. He ignored the gym rats making out to his right and strode forward until he left the street lights behind. It seemed an impossible stroke of luck that his hookup would be here, especially if the guy was who Raylan thought he was—who Raylan _knew_ he was. And yet, Raylan didn’t want him to get caught.

Raylan looked left and right as he moved between the cars, trucks, and motorcycles, but he didn’t see anyone else except two guys snorting something off the dashboard of an SUV. He stood still a moment and tried to sense activity, but all he felt was a vague discomfort, as though the molecules of air had gained weight and were pressing against his skin.

Raylan got moving again, desperate for a sign of his quarry. As he cleared the corner of a van, he tripped over something in its shadow. He took out his phone and turned on the flashlight.

“What the hell are you doin’ here?” Raylan wondered aloud when he saw Colt sprawled at his feet.

“He’s just chillin’.”

Raylan knew that voice though he’d only heard it once before and briefly. Calm, unhurried, with a hint of Southern honey, the warm baritone belonged to the man he was looking for, the man who was standing in the dark behind him.

“You wouldn’t happen to have a gun pointed at me, would you?” Raylan asked.

“Why would you assume that?”

“That you do, or that you don’t?”

The Angel chuckled softly. “Tell you what, how about you don’t turn around, and we can preserve the genial façade of our fleeting association?”

“Sounds good.” Raylan swallowed. “Hey, is there something I can call you?”

“Seems pointless, but Tim will do.”

A chill went down Raylan’s spine on cold lizard claws. So, it _was_ him. The Destroying Angel. He’d had more than one near brush with death in his life, but he felt closer to it now then he every had before. The guy hadn’t even threatened him, but the promise of extinction was there all the same. It hung in the air like the scent of snow on the wind.

“What’s wrong with him?” Raylan pointed with his foot at Colt.

“I had to put him out.”

“He’s about three inches taller and forty pounds heavier than you.”

“Yeah, wasn’t much of a challenge.”

“What happened? He didn’t want to take no for an answer?”

“Pretty much.”

“Listen—”

“Nope,” Tim interrupted. “Just nope to whatever you’re going to say. I don’t know who or _what_ you are but go away. Go far away from me.”

“You don’t understand.”

“That much is true.” Tim’s voice was leaden.

“Tim.” Raylan turned around, but he was alone. He ran to the end of the rows of cars and down the other side, but he knew Tim was gone. He came back to Colt, who was coming around. With some effort, Raylan got him off the ground.

“Goddam,” Colt said as he swayed on his feet. “Did you get the number of the tank that ran over me?”

“I should’ve left you down there in the dirt.”

“Why didn’t you?” Colt sounded genuinely curious.

“I swear, I have no idea. Are you okay?”

Colt rubbed the back of his neck. “He’s got a punch like a pile driver. I never saw it comin’. It was just, boom _lights out_.” He coughed and spat blood. “What are you doing here?”

“Would you believe I was lookin’ for the guy who cold-cocked you?”

“You sound sincere.” Colt smiled. “Thanks, by the way.” He patted his pockets. “I still got my wallet.” He took out his cigarettes and lit one.

“I doubt his motive was robbery.”

Colt squinted at Raylan through the smoke. “You think he was gonna rape me?”

“Not funny.” Raylan straightened his hat. “See you around.”

“Hold up. You think he’s the sniper, don’t you?”

“Do you?”

Colt pretended to consider. “It’s been a while, but it could be him, the Angel.”

“Are you saying you recognized him?”

“Yeah, sure. It was him.” Colt grinned. “Guess I’m a lucky guy, huh?”

Raylan walked away without another word.

 

Break

 

The team breakfast meeting was take-out from McDonald’s. Everyone bitched, but they remembered to thank David for running out. 

“Does anyone have anything fresh this morning?” Art asked.

“Not my underwear, that’s for sure,” Raylan said.

Rachel ignored Raylan. “I’ve looked for direction connections between Markham’s associates and the girl. If our boy is moving up the ladder, who’s higher than Markham?”

“Is that someone at the door?” Art stared across the room.

“Are we expecting anyone?” David asked as he walked to the door.

Raylan stood and put his hand on his weapon. Maybe he was over-reacting, but the sense of impending doom he’d felt last night was still with him.

David opened the door and stood aside out of the line of fire. “Can we help you?”

Colt took off his sunglasses and slipped them into his shirt pocket. “I’ve got a tip for you.”

Raylan narrowed his eyes at Colt but didn’t comment. He let Art do his job.

“You have more information for us, Mr. Rhodes?” Art asked as he gestured Colt to a seat.

“Yes, I do.” Colt smiled. “Mind if I smoke?”

“Yes,” Rachel said quickly.

Colt held up his hands. “Okay.”

“What did you want to tell us?” Art asked.

“Right. I was out last night lookin’ for strange.” Colt shrugged. “I went into a bar downtown and I swear to God, I saw that sniper.” He glanced at Raylan. “I can give you a description.”

“Let’s hear it,” Rachel said, nimble fingers poised over the keyboard.

“He’s a young guy, late twenties, average height, on the skinny side but hard, wiry, you know? Blue eyes, reddish hair. He’s, you know, boyish. And more important, he’s definitely the Destroying Angel.” Colt smiled. “Of course, if you really want a good look at him, you could check the bar’s security cameras.”

“David,” Art said. “Pay a visit to….” He looked at Colt.

“The Mustang Bar.”

“Got it.” David left the room.

“Well, if you don’t need me for anything else, I’ll be on my way.” Colt stood up.

“Thank you for bringing this to us,” Art said.

Colt nodded. “I just thought you should know what was going on.” He winked at Raylan.

Raylan scowled at Colt, but it had as much effect as mild sunshine. Raylan knew that Colt knew that he’d fucked Raylan good. If Raylan appeared on camera at the Mustang last night, he could claim to be on the shooter’s trail, though it would be hard to explain why he’d kept quiet. However, if the bar kept footage for more than a few days, Raylan might be caught on camera with his pants down. With the suspect.


	15. Chapter 15

Less than an hour after Sanchez left, he called in. “Sorry, Chief,” David said. “It’s a bust. The cameras aren’t hooked up to anything. The manager laughed at me. He asked me if I was really that stupid.”

Art took the phone away from his mouth while he stifled a laugh. “Well, that wasn’t very courteous of him.”

“He wanted to know what moron thought a gay bar would record its customers.”

“Well, come on back. We might be onto something here.”

“On my way, Chief.” David hung up.

“Nothing?” Raylan asked.

Art shook his head. “The cameras aren’t even recording anything.”

“That’s too bad.” Raylan cleared his throat. “So, go through that again, would you please, Rachel?”

“It occurred to me that someone had to groom the girls that were passed around as party favors to Markham’s associates. They were street kids, and before that, they were probably small-town girls. They’d need a little education in underworld etiquette.”

Art nodded. “Stands to reason, I guess.”

“I think it’s got to be a woman.”

“But who?” Art frowned.

“Me and Raylan think it’s most likely Katherine Hale.”

Art rubbed his chin. “I don’t know why, but it seems even worse to me when a woman does something like this.” He paused. “I kind of expect men to exploit women, but—”

“I get it, Chief,” Rachel said. “And that’s why you didn’t think of it. You wouldn’t think Katherine Hale could do such a thing because she’s a woman, and women are supposed to be nurturing.”

“She’s got a point,” Raylan said.

Rachel looked at her screen. “Hale has been at Markham’s side for over a decade. Before that she was married to a prominent mobster until he died in prison. It’s possible she’s just a mistress, but on the other hand….”

Raylan nodded. “She just might be a black widow.”

“Where is she currently re—?”

“Sending the address to everyone’s phone,” Rachel said.

David walked in. “Hey, I’m back.”

“We’re on the move,” Art said.

David turned around and walked out again.

 

Break

 

Art phoned ahead to the Lexington Hotel en route. The manager informed him that Ms. Hale had checked out. Art had Raylan changed course and got on the interstate. It was seven miles to the horse farm Markham had deeded to Hale. Raylan made it in five minutes.

The Escalade slid to a stop on the gravel drive, and the team banged out of all four doors. They fanned out, Art taking the front entrance. Raylan, the fastest runner, went around to the back.

Behind the two-story, faux-ante-bellum home, an enormous expanse of lawn bordered by white fencing rolled away to the tree line. As Raylan went to the French doors, he felt a tickle on the back of his neck, as though someone was running a fingertip down his nape. He tried the door knob. The door opened easily, and he slipped into the house. He took one step and froze at the sight of the woman standing between the great room and the large foyer.

“Please don’t come any farther,” Katherine Hale said.

Raylan took note of her stiff posture and the stilted sound of her voice. She wasn’t playing around. He got on his radio and called the other members of the team.

Art stuck his head out of the foyer and a bullet took out a chunk of the wall just above his ear. He ducked back quickly.

“All the way out, please,” Katherine said.

“Everyone out,” Art ordered.

Raylan back toward the French doors.

“Not you,” Katherine said. “He wants _you_ to stay.”

Raylan stopped.

“Now please put your gun on the floor.”

Raylan bent and set the Glock down.

“And the other one,” she said.

Raylan took the Glock 26 from his waistband and put it next to the 17. “I’m unarmed,” he said.

“Bullshit.” Katherine gasped. “Sorry. I was just repeating what he said.” She took out the earbud that was hidden by her thick, dark hair.

“Where is he?” Raylan’s gaze darted around the large space.

Katherine glanced behind her.

“I knew you’d find me.” Tim came out of the hall holding a Desert Eagle at the ready. “But I was hoping to be gone before you got here.”

“What happened?”

Tim shrugged. “Never shot a woman before.”

Raylan nodded. “So, you couldn’t pull?”

“Just like with that whore, but that time, I thought I couldn’t shoot her because she was innocent.” Tim sighed. “But I couldn’t shoot her either.” Tim looked at Katherine. “And now I’m in a quandary.”

“It’s not like you to get up close and personal,” Raylan said. “You did all the others from a fair distance.”

Tim nodded and then pointed to Katherine. “Sit on the couch there, please.” He waited for her to sit before he answered Raylan. “Don’t know what I was thinkin’ comin’ in here.” He shook his head. “I guess I just…. I just wanted some kind of answer.”

“Answer to what?”

“How could she do what she did?”

“This won’t make you happy, but the answer is almost always money,” Raylan said.

“I do not accept that.”

Raylan looked over. “Ms. Hale? Why’d you groom those young girls to be sold into slavery?”

Katherine answered without hesitation. “It’s a very efficient return on investment. The raw material is walking the streets for the plucking. Feed them up and teach them some skills, and they’re worth their weight in gold.”

Tim looked at her as though she was some new form of poisonous insect. He pointed the gun at her.

“No!” She jumped to her feet. “Don’t kill me!”

“I wonder how many girls begged you for mercy? Were you merciful, Katherine?”

“Tim,” Raylan said softly. “Let us take her in. I’ll make sure she rots in prison.”

“Christ, let him shoot me,” Katherine said. “I look like hell in orange.”

“You’re not even a little bit sorry,” Tim accused.

“I’m just trying to make a living. Go on and shoot me if that’s what you want. I won’t beg anymore. I may not have ethics, but do I have pride.” Katherine drew herself up and looked Tim in the eyes.

“Don’t,” Raylan said. “Please, let us take her.”

“Fuck!” Tim pointed the gun at the floor. “Get out of here, bitch. Go!”

Katherine ran like a deer out the front door and into Art’s custody.

Rachel got on the radio. “What do we do, Chief?”

“I’d say this is Raylan’s play.”

“Give me a few minutes?” Raylan said.

“Everyone stand down until we hear from Raylan,” Art said.

Raylan looked at Tim. “So, what’s on your mind, Angel?”


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last chapter, but there will be an epilogue.

Tim pushed Raylan’s guns under a side table, and then set his pistol on top of the table. “There, now ain’t we civilized?” He turned to Raylan. “Who are you? Because you sure as hell aren’t who I thought you were.”

“Special Agent Raylan Givens of the Critical Incident Response Group out of Quantico. Who did you think I was?”

“Doesn’t matter.”

“Look, I gotta know. Was all this about Terri Smallwood?”

“It’s about a promise I made to her brother.”

“I thought as much. For what it’s worth, if it was up to me, I’d let you go.”

“I know you would.” Tim looked around. “You suppose that rich bitch smokes?”

“No idea.”

“Probably just as well. You want to sit?”

Raylan sat across the coffee table from Tim. “What do you reckon is going to happen next?”

“To me?” Tim pursed his lips. “I’ve still got a goodly amount of ammo. Pretty sure I could hold out for a while. Of course, your people would bring in some ordnance, tear gas, and whatnot. Realistically, I see me eating my gun.”

Raylan sighed. “That’s just foolish.”

“Understand something, civilian, I won’t be going to prison. I’ll be going to a stockade. Uncle Sam is gonna want to see me about some stuff that happened over there.”

“You a war criminal?”

“No. Everything I did was under orders.” Tim shrugged. “Don’t mean shit.” He laughed abruptly. “Man, I can’t believe I thought you were a ghost.”

“What?”

“My friend, C.K., wore a cowboy hat. When I kept seein’ you, I started thinkin’ his spirit was tryin’ to communicate with me.”

“You have thoughts like that a lot?”

Tim reacted to Raylan’s tone. “Fuck you. I ain’t crazy.”

“Okay, but you did kill a lot of people.”

“I know, but I’m not a mad dog.”

“Okay,” Raylan said again. “Mind if I let my friends know I’m okay?”

“Sure, go ahead.” Tim rummaged in the end table drawer while Raylan talked to Art. “Dammit, there’s an ashtray. Why have an ashtray if you don’t smoke?”

Raylan got off the radio. “I don’t know,” he said. “If you want cigarettes, we can send someone to get some.”

“It’s not important. It just seems like the thing to do, having a last cigarette.”

“There’s no need for you to die.”

“Maybe, but it’s really the best ending. I’ll let you in on a secret.”

Raylan cupped his hands behind his ears and bent them forward. “I’m all ears.”

Tim smiled a genuine smile. “How did I ever imagine you were a ghost?” he said again.

“I don’t know. I’d think it would be especially hard after I topped you on a car hood.”

“There is that.” Tim’s expression could almost be called wistful.

“I wouldn’t mind doing that again sometime.”

“That would be nice. It happened so fast, you know?”

“Yeah. I’d kind of like to take my time with you.”

Tim held up a hand. “Okay, you’re good. You could probably keep me talkin’ for quite a while, but it’s time to end this.”

“Tim—” 

“Here’s my secret.” Tim leaned forward. “Avery Markham stored a shit-ton of explosives in the wine cellar of this house. I’m going to blow it up.”

“Do you have like a timer or something?”

“That would be none of your business.” Tim bit his lip. “I’m really sorry about this. You’re one in a million, and I truly would like to know you better, but this is goodbye.”

“No. I don’t accept this.”

“It’s not your decision.”

“I won’t allow it.”

Tim put his hand on his gun. “Don’t make me shoot you.”

“I know how you feel,” Raylan said quickly.

“Really.” Tim was interested in spite of himself. “How do I feel?”

“You feel guilty because you’re alive and he’s not.”

“Well, what do you know about that?” Tim turned away to look out the window. “I guess you _do_ know how I feel.”

“It’s not your fault you survived,” Raylan said. “And it’s not a bad thing.”

“I was almost finished,” Tim said quietly. “She was the last one.”

“She’ll be punished.”

Tim spoke as though he hadn’t heard Raylan. “You should go now.”

Raylan shook his head.

“If you think I won’t blow this place with you in it, you’re wrong. One swallow does not a summer make.”

“I have no idea what that means, but I don’t recall any swallowing. I would sure regret it if I never got the chance to blow you though.”

Tim smiled in spite of himself. “Do your co-workers hate you?”

“What? No. Everybody loves me. Stick around and you’ll see.”

Art spoke in Raylan’s ear. “Everything okay?”

“Yes, fine. Don’t call me, I’ll call you.” Raylan looked over at Tim. “My boss is gettin’ antsy, and you do not want to see him do the pee-pee dance. Since time is limited, I’m going to have to dive right in without preamble, so to speak.”

“Make it fast. I think I hear choppers.”

Raylan leaned forward, forearms on his knees, and met Tim’s eyes. “I referenced our encounter in crude terms very deliberately. You see, I don’t want it to mean something, mostly because you’re a serial killer who’s going to jail or hell one, and there ain’t really a future there. But dammit, it _did_ mean something, and you know it too.”

Tim shook his head. “You lost me.” 

“There’s a connection between us. I know you felt it.” 

“We’re super-compatible physically, that’s for sure.” 

“You’re going to laugh at me, and that’s okay, but I’ve felt a connection with you from the beginning. After we met, it got stronger.” 

“And?” 

“And I don’t want you to die or go to jail. I want you to live and be free so I can get to know you.” 

“I believe it was Mick Jagger who said, you cain’t always get what you want.” 

“Yeah, but he also said that sometimes you get what you need.” 

Tim sighed. “There ain’t no happy ending for us, cowboy, understand?” He looked into Raylan’s eyes as he got to his feet. “It was sweet, but we’re too different.” 

“No, we aren’t. We both want the same thing.” 

“And what’s that?” 

“Justice.” 

Tim smiled gently as he shook his head. “No, Raylan. _I’m_ justice. You’re the _law._ ” He took a radio transmitter from his jacket. “You should start running now.” 

“Tim, don’t!” 

“Bye, Raylan.” 

Raylan ran out the front door. Behind him, an explosion shattered the day and a fireball blew out every window in the house. Raylan was picked up by the blast and thrown several feet. By the time he sat up, Rachel, Art, and David were at his side. He stared numbly at the burning building as sirens wailed and rotor blades beat the air. It was over. 


	17. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thought for a long time about whether to post this epilogue. To me, Destroying Angel ended as it must, given the circumstances. However, I love my beta reader like a sister, and when she asked for a happy ending, I wrote it. If you like the story as is, ignore the epilogue. If you prefer a Shawshank Redemption ending, here it is. I'm the kind of person who wants it both ways. Thank you to everyone who read along with me. It makes me ridiculously happy.

Raylan Givens said goodbye to the people who’d come to mean so much to him during his time with the FBI. He didn’t like making a fuss but springing for tacos and beer seemed appropriate. He hosted the party at Ay Jalisco, where cerveza and tequila flowed like water. It was almost enough to wash away the bitter taste of the past year.

Katherine Hale had convinced a jury that she had no part of her boyfriend’s business dealings. She fled the state as soon as the trial was over, and subsequently, left the U.S. Raylan had retired the next day. Tim Gutterson was presumed dead, but an APB was still out for him or any information on him. When the story was released to the media, they made a big deal over the bouquets that covered Terri Smallwood’s grave and then found something else to flog.

Raylan told everyone who asked that he was retiring to the Yucatan peninsula. He had a decent amount of savings, enough to buy the piece of land and have enough left over to live frugally. He planned to buy a boat. Mostly, he said he wanted to be away from people, from the constant buzz of their emotions, and the spiderwebs they trailed behind them.

Last to leave the party were Art and Rachel. David had been transferred Miami where he was as happy as a pig in slop. Raylan hugged Rachel, shook Art’s hand, and then pulled Art into a hug.

“I think I’ll miss you most of all Scarecrow,” Rachel said. “But that’s probably just the tequila talking. Bye, Raylan. Take care.” She walked out of the restaurant.

“I’m goin’ too,” Art said. “Give me a call from time to time.”

“Sure.” They both knew he wouldn’t.

“I never understood you,” Art said. “But I always respected you and even admired you.”

“You’re the best man I’ve ever worked with.”

“Aw, hell.” Art’s voice choked off. He flapped a hand at Raylan and went to the door. “Be happy,” he said as he left.

Raylan waved to the manager of Ay Jalisco and then walked out back to his car. Everything he cared to take with him was in a suitcase in the trunk. The gas tank was full, and he hoped to see the sun come up in another state. It was a long way to Quintana Roo, but that’s where he had to go. What he was looking for would find him there… or he would die a lonely drunkard.

 

Break

 

Dawn was a pale pink smear on the horizon. Raylan opened the tent fly and went out into the morning of his third day in the Yucatan. A salt-tinged breeze blew in off the Gulf of Mexico, and he took a deep breath. Rocking gently at anchor, a sleek yacht was moored at the edge of the lagoon.

After a breakfast of fried plantains and black coffee, Raylan walked down the beach for half a mile and then doubled back. On his return, he walked the path that wound through palms and banana trees. He tried to move quietly and stay out of sight.

When he reached the point he’d picked out as optimum, he stopped and listened. For several minutes, there were no sounds but bird calls and the muted thunder of the surf. He was about to move again when someone spoke from his left.

“I was gonna wait for you to take a piss, but I got tired.”

Raylan grinned. “Show yourself.”

Tim eased from behind a tree and stood there with his rifle at port-arms. “Okay, you found me. Now what?”

“I’m not gonna take you in, if that’s what you’re thinkin’. I don’t have a badge anymore.”

Tim appeared to consider this announcement. “So, you’re not here to stop me?”

Raylan shook his head. He hadn’t had a haircut in three months and his bangs hung in his eyes. “No, I’m here to help.”

“No need.”

“Okay.” Raylan turned and looked out at the yacht. “So why haven’t you done it? She’s been here for two days.”

“I figured that’s how you tracked me, but how’d you figure out I wasn’t dead?”

Raylan ran a hand through his sun-streaked hair, raking it back from his face. “Because you were still there, out there in the world, a frozen spark in the big darkness.”

Tim didn’t blink at the poetic language. “You aim to melt me?”

“Given the chance, I would certainly try.”

Tim smiled. “I don’t give chances. You got to earn it.”

“Easy now. That sounds like foreplay to me.”

“I imagine most things are foreplay to you, cowboy. Where’s your hat?”

Raylan smiled back. “I gave it to a friend.” He still savored the memory of the look on David Vasquez’s face when he’d plunked the Stetson on the man’s head. He reckoned David still hadn’t taken it off.

“We’ll have to get you another one.”

Raylan tilted his head to the side. “Why?”

“Call me crazy, but it gives me a boner.”

“I was gonna call you crazy anyway, but that seals the deal.” Raylan coughed. “As much as I’d love to stand in idle conversation with you, what happens now?”

“I shoot Katherine Hale, and we pick it up from there?”

Raylan blew out a breath, puffing his cheeks.

“Objections?” Tim raised his eyebrows.

“Not so much an objection as a suggestion.”

“Let’s hear it.”

 

Break

 

Katherine Hale was outraged when members of local law enforcement boarded her yacht shortly after her lunch was delivered. She was very vocal in her suspicions about where the heroin they found had come from. Raylan and Tim could hear her shouting all the way on the beach. They took great satisfaction in watching her dumped into the police boat in handcuffs. True to their bribed word, the cops tossed her phone and handbag into the waters of the Gulf. Her demands to call a lawyer fell on deaf ears. She was brought before a judge and sentenced to life in prison. A panel van stood ready to transport her to a cell. From beginning to end, it had taken three hours to accomplish Terri Smallwood’s final revenge.

After watching the prison van drive away, Raylan turned to Tim. “I call that money well spent.”

“I could’ve had her for a few pennies worth of brass.”

“You always have to top me, don’t you?” Raylan chuckled when he realized what he’d said.

Tim shook his head. “Are you always this cheesy?”

“That’s right. We don’t know shit about each other, do we?”

“Nobody knows shit about anybody.”

“We’re really going to have to work on your baditude.”

Tim narrowed his eyes at Raylan. “My what?”

“I meant bad attitude, okay? But I said baditude. Sue me.” Raylan smiled. “Are you having fun?”

“Oddly enough, I think I am.”

“Well, that’s a start. Here’s the point I was tryin’ to make earlier before you poked fun at my verbal skills. We don’t know a lot about each other, but we know everything we need to know, because we already have this bond.”

“So, you keep sayin’.”

Raylan made an exasperated noise. “I’m goin’ to the beach to get my things. You comin’ with me?”

“Of course.” Tim smiled. “The bond compels me.”

“Fuck you.”

“Maybe when we get to the tent. This is a little public even for me.”

“Fuck you with a limp dick.”

Tim laughed. Raylan turned on the sand to look at him. Tim looked shocked to be laughing, and then, he just looked happy. For a long moment they stared into one another’s eyes searching for the same thing and finding it. They moved toward each other at the same time and met in a collision of bodies, hearts, and spirits. They were inextricably tangled in every way possible and that didn’t change for as long as they lived.


End file.
